Midnight Routines
by Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Bruce has a routine he does every night for the sake of his own sanity. But really, it shouldn't be so darn challenging to get all of his kids to go to bed, should it? Featuring some good ol' Batdad content.


**Midnight Routines**

I own nothing!

* * *

Bruce was tired. Painfully, devastatingly tired. As he trudged up the stairs to the manor, he felt the fatigue in every sore limb that begged him to go to bed for some well-earned rest.

He'd already changed in the cave from his batsuit to some comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt after a quick shower. His still-wet hair dripped down the nape of his neck.

He wanted nothing more than to go straight to his bedroom and sleep off the exhausting patrol, but he knew he couldn't go to sleep quite yet.

It was a routine he'd slowly become accustomed to over the years. It started when he'd first adopted Dick as his ward, and had simply continued when he'd taken in the rest of his children. Some might call it overprotective or downright paranoid. Bruce called it practical.

Every night, without fail, he'd do a circuit around the manor to make sure each of his kids was where they were supposed to be. He didn't know exactly what made him do it. Probably some mixture of fatherly instinct, late night paranoia, and enough loss to push him to double check they were all home and _alive_.

It had gotten to the point where he couldn't sleep without checking on them all. Oh, he'd try of course. He'd lay in bed for hours, trying to calm his mind enough to sleep, but still he'd toss and turn until he finally hauled himself out of bed and succumbed to the midnight paranoia.

And on days when they weren't all currently staying at the manor, he'd call. Even if it's just exchanging a few pleasantries and bidding them goodnight, he needed to make sure they were okay. That was the only thing that gave him enough peace to let him sleep soundly.

After a few years he'd stopped questioning it.

So tonight, like every other, he went through with his bedtime ritual and set out to track down each of his kids.

He stopped in the kitchen first, which was where he found Dick.

The young man sat on a stool at the island, eating a sandwich that looked too hastily put together to have possibly been made by Alfred. He was already in pajamas—an old t-shirt and flannel pants. So at least he had enough sense to not plan on staying up all night, like the rest of his siblings frequently tried despite Bruce's efforts.

Bruce went to the fridge and grabbed a carton of juice. He reached in the cupboard for a glass, looking back at Dick. "Hey, chum."

Dick hummed a greeting. He sounded tired, and when Bruce studied him further he could see dark circles under his eyes. "You look tired," he noted.

"So do you," Dick replied.

"...Fair enough. You going to bed soon?" He peered at Dick over the top of the glass as he took a swig.

"Yeah, yeah, in a sec. I'm meeting Babs for a jog in the morning anyway, so..." He yawned, proving his point.

Bruce nodded, downing his glass and making sure to put the carton away. Last time he left one out, Alfred really chewed him out for it the next morning. Tim still had a video of the ordeal somewhere that he just _loved_ to show at parties.

As Bruce left the kitchen, he stopped to ruffle Dick's hair. "Night, Dick," he said.

Dick threw back a tired grin. "Night, Bruce."

Next stop was the study. Normally the kids didn't take to hanging around there too much, but Tim had discovered years ago that Bruce's study was one of the quietest rooms in the house. It wasn't rare for him to walk in and find Tim asleep on the couch or reading at Bruce's desk. Once he spent nearly an hour looking for the kid, only to find him passed out on top of the bookshelf in there.

Bruce had long since stopped trying to understand his son.

Tonight turned out to be one of those nights. Bruce found Tim curled up with his back against the arm of the sofa, his laptop perched on his knees as he typed away at it furiously. He looked up when he spotted Bruce.

"Hey, B," he said without tearing his focus away from his laptop.

Bruce had to physically keep himself from sighing. Every night was a struggle when it came to Tim. Bruce thought he was bad at getting enough sleep? Nope. Tim was a whole other level of sleep-deprived. Bruce was lucky if he could convince the kid to get an hour a day, if that.

Thankfully, after being Tim's guardian for so long, Bruce had a good idea of which tactics worked and which didn't. "Hey, bud," he started casually. "What are you working on?" He moved until he was next to the couch and leaned in over Tim's shoulder to see better.

"Just finishing up a few cases and working on the WE presentation I have to give next week," Tim explained. He didn't look away from the screen.

Bruce hummed and straightened up. "Okay, but you're going to bed soon, right?"

Tim didn't speak, just kept clacking away at the keys.

"Tim?"

He distractedly shrugged with one shoulder. "Y-yeah, I'll get around to it eventually," he said, but he was too focused on his work to even try making it sound convincing.

"Tim," Bruce said. "You'll have plenty of time to work on those tomorrow. Right now you need sleep."

"But—"

Bruce held up a hand. "Before you try arguing, just know that I'm fully prepared to sic Alfred on you and let _him_ try to convince you instead." His lips quirked at that last part. Even Tim wasn't stubborn enough to risk facing Alfred's wrath. And to be honest, Bruce wouldn't be too keen on doing that either. For an old British man, Alfred could be more intimidating than Batman when he wanted to be.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tim sighed. He rubbed his temples and then set his stare on Bruce. He seemed to be deciding whether it would be worth it to protest. After a few seconds, he appeared to settle on that it wasn't.

Closing his laptop, he stood up with resignation and let Bruce steer him down the hall towards his bedroom. When they got to his door, Bruce squeezed his shoulder. "Goodnight, Tim. I'd better not find out you spent the rest of the night on your computer," he warned.

Tim rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. See you in the morning." And with that, he gave a two-fingered salute and retreated into his bedroom, leaving Bruce standing alone in the hallway.

 _Two down, three to go,_ he thought to himself, pleased.

Damian's room was only three doors down, so that was where he set off to next.

Thankfully, Damian was already fast asleep. Bruce had let him skip patrol that night because of a minor injury he'd gotten the night before that was still bothering him. AKA Bruce had to practically force the boy to take a break and stay home rather than go out. He protested all night, even though his sprained shoulder was practically killing him and he _still_ insisted he was fine.

He was...tough.

So it made Bruce glad to find that Damian had apparently taken his advice and gotten some much needed rest.

The boy lay on his back with his arm propped up on a pillow. Titus' head rested on Damian's stomach, which rose and fell steadily with his breathing. Bruce patted the dog's head before leaning down to press a quick kiss to Damian's forehead and make sure his blanket was covering him enough. He also adjusted the ice pack that was slowly falling off his shoulder.

If he wasn't already well aware of how ruthless Damian could be when it came to revenge, Bruce absolutely would have taken a quick picture before he left. It was rare to catch Damian sleeping, and even rarer to catch him looking so adorable as he did so. His son was cute, sue him. But while it would have been nice to capture the moment, Bruce had no desire to face Damian's wrath when he inevitably found out about it.

So grudgingly, Bruce left empty-handed and started down the hallway towards the gym, stifling a yawn. He didn't even have to think about where to look for Cass.

She was, as usual, training in the gym. She was practicing on one of the training dummies, perfecting that move Jason had taught her last week.

Cass' movements were as flawless as ever, and Bruce felt a surge of pride watching her. This was probably how normal dads felt when their daughters performed at dance recitals or starred in elementary school plays—not expertly practiced moves that could easily kill a man. But the gratification was the same.

Cass waved when she saw him come in. She paused in her punches and grabbed a water bottle from the floor, taking a swig.

"Hey, Cassie. Nice work," Bruce said.

Cass grinned and inclined her head.

"You going to bed soon?"

She shrugged.

Well...at least it's wasn't an outright _no_ this time _._ He'd take it. "Hm, well I think you've had enough training for one night. Why don't you head on up to bed?" he suggested.

Cass considered this, then held up her arms innocently. "Carry me?" Her eyes held that mischievous gleam he knew so well. It was the same gleam she'd had that time she'd somehow convinced Bruce to let her keep a chicken she'd found. Dick said it was because he was a pushover, but Bruce preferred to think of it as being amenable.

So when Cass' lips pursed into a small, oh-so childlike pout, he couldn't help but roll his eyes. He obligingly turned around and grunted as she happily hopped onto his back, wrapping her hands around his neck.

He carried her piggyback up the stairs and down the hallway to her room, and Bruce was positive at this point that if he wasn't Batman she certainly would have broken his back ages ago. He was getting too old for this stuff.

He dropped her off at her room, where she kissed him on the cheek, said goodnight, and left without another word.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Just one more. One more and maybe then he could finally, _hopefully_ , get some rest.

Jason had been trailing a drug cartel all week, so to Bruce's delight he was crashing at the manor. Bruce certainly wasn't complaining. He'd take any opportunity to have his whole family under the same roof, even if it was only for one night.

He stopped by Jason's room, hoping he'd already be asleep, but his bed was empty. Bruce frowned. He knew his kids often had trouble sleeping, but this was getting a bit excessive. He supposed that was in part his fault, but oh well.

He started in the direction of the library, thinking that maybe Jason was in there, when he was distracted by noise from the den. He swiftly changed tracks and decided to check there first, which proved to be a good choice. The sounds he heard were coming from the television, which had been left on some western movie. Jason was fast asleep, sprawled out on the couch. He must have been watching a movie and accidentally fell asleep.

"Jason," Bruce said, shaking his shoulder.

Jason stirred. "Mmph," he grumbled.

"You can't sleep on the couch, Jay. Let's get you to bed."

Jason grumbled again and opened one eye. "Fuck off, 'm sleepin'."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "C'mon, bud, you're gonna hurt your back like that."

"Well that sucks, 'cause I'm not moving." Jason snuggled further into the cushions.

Bruce stared at him for a second before giving up. He was picking his battles, he told himself. And honestly, he was just grateful that Jason was spending the night at the manor at all.

Sighing, he picked up the spare blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over Jason, ruffling his hair when he was satisfied he was covered. "Goodnight, Jay," he said.

Jason grunted, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "Night, Bruce," he murmured.

Warmth flooded Bruce's chest when he was reminded of those late nights years ago, back when Jason was still a kid. He had the frustrating habit of working until he dropped, and consequently falling asleep in random places throughout the house when he just couldn't go on anymore. Bruce would often have to carry him back upstairs to his room after stumbling upon him curled up and snoring somewhere. But now Jason was too big for that. Bruce decided not to dwell too much on the tragedy of that fact.

The last thing Bruce did was turn off the TV, cloaking the room in darkness. As he left, he mentally patted himself on the back. Finally, _finally,_ he was done for the night.

Now, this routine of his may seem odd to some, but for Bruce it was a reassurance. It gave him the warm feeling that this, _this_ was what made it all worth it. Checking up on them, making sure they're taken care of, it made him feel secure in his role as a father.

These nightly walkthroughs gave him the comfort he needed, the knowledge that each of his kids was safe and sound. He supposed that wasn't too much to ask for, judging by the fact that they all defied death every day. Was it really so odd if he wanted to double check that none of them were out dying in a warehouse somewhere as he slept?

As Bruce lay in his bed, closing his eyes, he listened to the blissful silence of the manor. And his last thought as sleep overtook him was joy at the knowledge that he would be met with a full house in the morning.


End file.
